


Marked Woman

by Cantatrice18



Category: Tomb Raider (Video Games), Tomb Raider Legend
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Light Angst, Missing Scene, Nudity, One Shot, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: Amanda receives her iconic tattoos, and reflects on the meaning behind each one.
Kudos: 1





	Marked Woman

Cold air trickled across Amanda’s skin, raising goosebumps. Below her navel, she felt the warmth of a man’s hand vanish. She opened her eyes a crack and saw the massive outline of the tattoo artist blocking out the harsh studio light. “We should wait,” he said, his accent thick and Eastern European. “Too many in one day, not good for a person.” His eyes lingered on Amanda’s ribs, cruelly visible in the unforgiving light. “The body is not prepared for the pain.”

“My body can stand anything, thanks,” replied Amanda coldly. “Continue.”

With a deep sigh, the tattooist turned away to prepare more ink. Behind him, his assistant leered openly. Amanda could hardly blame the man. In order to preserve the integrity of the tattoos she’d already had done that day, she’d been forced to lie nearly naked on the table, her body fully revealed. Only a low-cut pair of black underwear hid her from view, and somehow that made her position feel all the more vulnerable. 

The tattooist returned and rested his hand along the hollow of her left hip. As he leaned over to begin work, she heard him murmur in Russian: _My child, what happened to you?_

She said nothing. He was right to wonder about the extreme nature of her request. There was plenty he could speculate about her reasons for the spiky black designs: gang membership, maybe, or a cult. But she alone knew the truth. The black marks were physical representations of memories. Memories of the creature currently trapped within her necklace, the creature that had consumed her innocence and nearly destroyed her, until she’d tamed it. The shadowy thorns that wound around her arms represented where he’d grabbed her to yank her from the rising water. The woven patterns on her lower back and shoulder blades were from the way he would hold her down and crush her beneath him when angry. This design was the last: a dark, stylized crescent beneath her navel that drew the eye downwards. With it, her “look” would be complete. No trace of the old, naïve Amanda would remain. 

When the design was finished, she let the tattooist help her to her feet. She paid him extra, with an instruction in Russian not to tell anyone she’d been there. Then she walked out of the studio and into a waiting limousine.

James Rutland sat across from her, arms crossed. “All done?” he asked, his voice grating. She nodded and Rutland took out a walkie talkie. “Take them down,” he ordered.

“What was that about?” Amanda asked as he lowered the walkie. 

“Just a precaution,” Rutland smirked. “Don’t want anyone remembering you were here. My boys will handle it.”

Amanda stared out the window without answering. Part of her cared that the tattooist and his assistant were likely being murdered in cold blood. A small part. But the rest of her was thousands of miles away in Paraiso, reliving the events that had brought her halfway around the world. She ached, physically, from the tattoos. Yet emotionally, she felt nothing but emptiness. The old Amanda was well and truly gone, now. It was time to focus on the future.

“Tell me what you’ve learned about Lara’s whereabouts.”


End file.
